


Dec 17

by dizzy



Series: Crisscolfer Advent 2015 [17]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Darren stretches himself too thin; Chris is there to help him pick up the pieces"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dec 17

There's a crowded room and a stage with an empty chair, a guitar propped on it's stand beside it. 

Darren will walk out there. He'll do it. He'll take a shot, take a breath, and go play for the crowd. He'll ignore that his limbs feel hollow and his head feels full and his heart feels empty. He'll smile like he's supposed to, make the music that he's supposed to. 

He's a professional liar. He's good at what he does. No one will know the difference. 

* 

Insomnia. Jetlag. They're one and the same lately. Maybe they just feed on each other. His body says sleep and his brain says run, his body says awake and his brain says sure but don't expect us to function. 

He's fucking it all up. His fingers are clumsy on the strings. They slather makeup under his eyes to make him look more alive than gone. They shove things into his hand, things they say will perk him up. Most of them go straight into the trash. Why fuck his body up with artificial shit when he's accomplishing the same thing just fine through natural methods? He'll take honest burnout over a chemical stupor. 

"You need anything?" Someone's assistant asks him at one of his appearances. 

He opens his mouth to answer and ends up shaking his head instead. He doesn't even have an answer to deflect with. He needs a lot, and he needs it all in a vital way, but nothing she could do for him. 

*

Darren keeps thinking about her question all night long, though. He makes a list in his mind. 

What does he need? Sleep. Time. Home. Naturally, things that don't exist within his grasp. 

What does he need most? A second chance. A way out. 

What can he have? Another drink, another photo taken. 

*

He checks his phone every few hours. There are always new messages, usually phone calls, voicemails, people looking for him. 

Sometimes the name he actually wants to see is there, too. Concerned or checking in mostly, once in a while pissed off. It's not that Darren forgets to respond or return the calls. 

It's just that sometimes he doesn't know what to say. When someone knows you that well, it's unsettling. He thinks he'll open his mouth to say hello and everything else he's keeping repressed will just spill out instead. 

It makes him kind of an asshole, to spend half his life desperately craving being with that one person while simultaneously turning his back on them. He's just not sure how to handle need on this level and it feels like more stress when what he wants is less. 

*

It's not a nervous breakdown, but it's damn near close. 

He throws a drink and a script and he yells at people. He never yells at people, except now apparently he does. 

The movie they want him to take films in Canada. 

He's not fucking going to Canada, he tells them. 

Later he feels a little bad. He starts to regret it. Canada might not be so bad. Lots of people are relying on him. He's gotta keep his head in the game. He's gotta keep getting credits behind his name. He's letting people down. It's not just his life. It's not just his career. 

He answers the phone the next time it rings and he starts to talk about Vancouver in the winter and Chris cuts him off. "No," Chris says. "You can't."

"I have to-" 

"No," Chris says again. "Darren, you actually can't." 

His voice is soft, speaking his words delicately like he thinks the wrong ones might make Darren crumble. 

"Darren," Chris says again. "Just come back for a little while. You'll be fine. It'll be fine." 

*

He feels like half his life is spent on planes these days. 

First class is more of a prison than a perk after a while. A little more leg room, free booze and alcohol? He'd trade it for a bed he sleeps in for more than three or four nights at a time. 

He's tired of forgetting what city he's in. He's over being shuffled from event to event. He's fucking sick of fittings and outfits and clothes he doesn't give a shit about. His eyes feels like they'll never stop hurting from the bright burn of flash bulbs and his mouth has all but forgotten how to form a real smile. 

There's a breaking point. There's gotta be. 

He's almost looking forward to it. 

* 

Darren walks into a house that isn't home, but when he closes his eyes all the sounds he hears feel safe. The air he breathes tastes familiar and fills his lungs better than any other air in any other room. He smells the faint cinnamon scent of a candle and the cleaner Chris uses on his floors and he could drop to his knees with how heavy his body feels right now. 

Somehow his legs find the strength to stay up and when he opens his eyes Chris is standing there, a dish towel in his hand and a smile on his face. "You made it," he says, head tilted slightly, jaw stubbled, hair unstyled. He looks warm and comfortable and tall and strong and everything Darren isn't right now. "I've been waiting." 

Darren's throat is dry but he works the words out anyway. "Me, too." 

This is a reprieve, not an escape. But maybe it'll be enough.


End file.
